Robin Lee Hatcher (21 page)

“Mama, please.”

“Stay close to God . . . Bethany.”

She bit her lower lip. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

The bedroom door opened, admitting the doctor. “You’d better go in to your father. I’ll stay here.”

She raised her mother’s limp hand to her lips. “Good-bye, Mama,” she whispered. “I love you.” Then she lowered the hand to her mother’s side and rose from her chair.

The walk across the hall seemed a mile long.

She paused inside the doorway and stared at her father’s still form on the bed. His appearance was much the same as his wife’s, his face blue and pinched from the dehydration and accompanying poor circulation, the skin of his hands drawn and puckered.

“Bethany?”

She forced a smile as she moved to his bedside. “Yes, Papa.”

“Your mother?”

She couldn’t lie to her father the way she had her mother. “She’s nearly gone.” Oh, how her soul ached saying those words.

She knelt on the floor and took one of her father’s hands between both of hers. He felt so cold. She lifted the withered fingers to her tear-dampened cheek. “Papa . . . I’m so afraid. Please get better.”

“We needn’t fear death, my girl. Not if we belong to Christ. I do not regret leaving this world to live with him in paradise.”

“I know, but I’ll be so alone.”

He gave her the slightest of smiles. “Jesus will never leave you nor forsake you. You won’t be alone.”

Please, God. Please don’t take Papa too. I cannot bear to lose them
both
.

Her father closed his eyes. “I will miss you, Bethany, but your mother and I will see you again. In heaven.” His voice was whispery thin.

“I’m not a very good Christian. I’ve done so many things wrong.” Even as she spoke, she saw him slipping away from her. “I need you, Papa.”

He rallied for a moment, his eyes opening to meet her gaze. His voice seemed stronger when he spoke. “Put your trust in the Lord. Others will fail you, but Christ never will.”

Papa, please don’t go
.

Breath eased through his parted lips, and then all that remained of her wonderful father was his emaciated shell. Her papa had gone home to his Master.

TWENTY-FIVE

Ten days later, Bethany stood on the back stoop, clad in a black dress that was a size too big for her. Rand Howard sat astride his horse some distance away. Although there hadn’t been any new cases of cholera in the past two days, the town remained under quarantine — which Rand had broken by coming to see her.

“Hawk’s not at the Circle Blue,” he said. “The men told me he rode out the day after our wedding. Said he might not be back before the first snow. I was mighty surprised when I heard it. I thought you must’ve known or I would’ve come sooner.”

She hadn’t thought it possible that her heart could hurt more than it did already. She was wrong. It could hurt more. Much more. It was as if in that moment her many losses crushed her, physically pushing her to the ground. She slumped to the steps and willed herself to stop the words that circled in her mind.

Ingrid isn’t here . . . Mama is dead . . . Papa too . . . And Hawk . . .
Hawk left me . . . He left me here alone. He’s gone away. How will I
ever bear this on my own?

She couldn’t hold in the single, aching sob that wrenched her body.

Rand was obviously frustrated he couldn’t comfort her. “He would have been here if he’d known about the cholera, Bethany. He’d have been right here with you.”

Raising her head, she gave him a weak smile. It was pointless to disagree with him, and besides, she hadn’t the energy. Let Rand think what he would about his friend. She knew that Hawk wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

Hawk, how could you leave me now?

“As soon as Doc gives the all clear, Ingrid says she’s comin’ to town to take care of you for a spell.”

At that, something inside her snapped. She couldn’t bear the thought of staying in this place one moment more. “I won’t be here, Rand. I’m returning to Philadelphia. I just . . . I can’t.” It was the only thing she could do. There was no reason to stay in Sweetwater. There was nothing to hold her here. Her best friend was married, her parents were dead, and her husband didn’t want her. She would go back East where she still had family. She would go to her grandmother and wait for her heart to mend — if it ever would.

“Bethany, surely you don’t — ” The look in her eye stopped him. He paused, cleared his throat, then nodded. “Well, Ingrid will be mighty sorry to hear you’re leavin’.” He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Mighty sorry. She was settin’ store in the two of you livin’ close to each other.”

“I will write to her often.”

“You wantin’ to leave soon?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, a great heaviness weighing on her chest. “As soon as I can make the arrangements.”

“Is there anything you want me to tell Hawk when he gets back?”

She shook her head. “No.” She turned and went inside without saying good-bye. The word would have choked her. There’d been too many farewells in recent days. Too many to bear.

In the kitchen, she removed the pot of boiled water from the stove and replaced it with a second pot. Doc Wilton had told her not to stop boiling her water too soon. At least not until the last of the recovering patients — only two of them now — were sent back to their homes.

So few had recovered. So few.

Her eyes filled as she leaned against the table, head drooping forward. Because of the dangers of the cholera epidemic spreading, the dead had been burned. None had received a proper burial, not even her mother and father. Bethany hadn’t had time to mourn their passing. Not really. She’d been too busy helping the doctor tend to the ill.

She’d wondered more than once why she hadn’t fallen sick too. Why had she been spared when others died? It made no sense to her. No sense at all. And there were times when her heart hurt so much she wished she had been taken. Even now she wished . . .

“There you are.” Doc Wilton stepped into the kitchen.

“Were you calling for me?” She forced herself to straighten. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Am I needed upstairs?”

“No. The patients are resting peacefully, so I’m going to my office to see to a few things.” His eyes narrowed. “And you need to get yourself something to eat. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and it shows. You’ve lost far too much weight.”

“I’m fine, Dr. Wilton. I haven’t been hungry. That’s all.”

“Your appetite isn’t my concern, Bethany, but your health is. I’m going straight over to the restaurant and order a meal for you. I’ll deliver it myself.”

“That isn’t — ”

“Don’t argue with me, young woman. As your physician, I expect you to follow my orders.”

She gave him a tired look. “As you wish.”

In the days since the outbreak began, she’d come to admire the doctor a great deal. He was tender and compassionate. Because he genuinely cared about his patients, the many deaths were written in the creases on his face.

“You need to rest yourself,” she said.

He nodded. “I will. If there are no more reports of illness by tomorrow evening, I believe we can lift the quarantine. And the last of our patients will go home in the morning. You’ll have the house to yourself again.”

The house to herself. That didn’t sound all that inviting.

She thought of Hawk, remembered him holding her and kissing her. If only he were here to hold her now. Perhaps then she might not be so afraid of the future.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Hawk was somewhere near the Idaho border when God finally got through to him. By then he’d read through the gospel of John and all of Paul’s epistles, including the book of Romans twice. He was camped out under a clear July sky, a million stars looking close enough to reach up and touch, when he realized that it wasn’t enough to believe in God. He needed to know him. He needed to follow him.

He used to say he could trust God but not God’s people. But then he began to remember the believers he could trust. His parents. Rand. Reverend Silverton.

And Bethany. He could trust Bethany.

He hadn’t trusted her, but why not? Because she’d wanted to get him to come to her father’s church? Was that such an awful thing?

Maybe that wager of hers was God’s way of getting his attention. Like Romans said, all things worked together for good to them that loved God. Maybe God had used Bethany’s wager to get through his thick skull.

Other verses from Romans came to mind as he lay on the ground, a blanket rolled up for a pillow beneath his head. There was the one about blessing those who persecute you, bless and do not curse. There was the one about living peaceably with all men. There was the one about not avenging yourself, but leaving that to God. There was even one about feeding your enemies and giving them something to drink. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good, the Bible said.

Would God want him to forgive those men who’d given him that beating? Yes, it seemed that he would. Not just forgive them but also feed them. That was asking a lot.

He remembered the sermon he’d heard his father-in-law give. The one about his righteousness being nothing but filthy rags. He thought he’d done a lot of good things, but they didn’t count for much in God’s eyes because he’d done them for the wrong reasons. And then there were the things he’d done that were wrong. Plain and clear wrong. Like marrying Bethany so he wouldn’t feel guilty. Like ignoring the fact he’d promised before not only her family but God that he would love and care for her. Like running out on her the way he had instead of facing her like a man. He’d told himself that he’d done it for her benefit, but that wasn’t true. He needed to go back. He needed to tell her he was sorry. And he needed to honor his commitment to her, if she’d give him a second chance.

There it was. That’s what he wanted most of all. A second chance with Bethany.

TWENTY-SIX

“I should have canceled the ball as soon as you arrived. Whatever will people think of me?”

Bethany stared out the bedroom window at the expanse of green lawn and elaborate gardens behind the Worthington home. “It’s all right, Cousin Beatrice. No one will think ill of you. My parents have been gone a month now.”

Beatrice Worthington came to stand beside her. “I wish there was something I could say or do for you. It breaks my heart to see you this way.”

Bethany looked at her father’s cousin and offered a sad smile. “Please stop worrying about me. Your guests will arrive soon, and you’re not dressed for the evening.”

“Gracious, you’re right. Harvey says I would lose my head if it weren’t attached. I’d best dash.”

Alone once more in the bedroom, Bethany exhaled a long sigh. She’d forgotten how wearing Beatrice could be. She rarely ceased moving or talking. And her husband, Harvard Worthington, was cut from the same cloth. The pair were pillars of Philadelphia society, always in the midst of every social function of note. When Bethany was a girl, she’d loved her visits with the Worthington cousins. But now . . .

It wasn’t as if she’d had much choice where to stay when she arrived in Philadelphia nine days earlier. Her grandmother was traveling abroad and wouldn’t return from the Continent for another month. And so she had come to Cousin Beatrice.

Oh, but such thoughts seemed ungrateful. Her cousins had good hearts, and they genuinely cared for her and grieved the loss of her parents with her. They had done their best to make her feel at home.

She allowed her gaze to move around the large bedroom that was now hers. It was too large. Not at all like her small bedroom in the two-story house in Sweetwater. Not at all like the even smaller one in that log cabin to the west of town.

She tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat as once again tears blurred her eyes. She missed Montana. She missed her parents.

She missed Hawk.

But she didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to think about anything that had happened in recent months.

Pushing away the memories, she walked to the dressing table, sat on the stool, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks looked pale and hollow. She’d lost more weight since leaving Sweetwater. Beatrice claimed she would soon waste away to nothing if she didn’t start eating more.

I don’t care if I waste away
.

If only she could go home. If only . . .

She hardened her heart against the memories of Hawk that tried to resurface. She couldn’t bear to think about him. Not today. Her pain was already too great.

Perhaps she should go downstairs. Beatrice had said she could if she wished. No one would ask her to dance since she was in mourning — nor would she want to dance — but she could observe the festivities for a while. It might be diverting.

She rose and walked to the wardrobe. Among the dozen mourning gowns, she found something suitable — a black satin dress with soft lines, simply cut but fine enough for a ball. She would eschew jewelry except for the broach that had been her mother’s and the ring she still wore on her left hand.

One more reminder of Hawk.